Mining The Sunshine

By Amos Russel Wells

Some day, when the hollow mines
Yield their final, grudging toll,
When from out those drear confines
Comes the last black lump of coal,
Then, in chill and dark despair
We shall learn to look on high
To the quarry of the air,
To the coal-fields of the sky!
Where the sun in quietness
Bends his ample daily course,
There descends to cheer and bless
A Niagara of force.
Steadily ’tis pouring down,
An incessant, copious yield,
On the house-tops of the town,
On the reaches of the field
Here no strike and no combine
Will disturb the course of trade
Every man will boldly mine
In the sunfield unafraid
Every man will take his own
Fuel to his utmost need
And the sun upon his throne
Will rebuke our human greed